Prelude
by Melchy
Summary: Before the Muirs moved into Gull Cottage, what were the Captain's thoughts on his soon to be "houseguests"


Prelude 

Rating: G

These characters do not belong to me but do let me take them out once in a while and then put them back. They belong to 20th Century Fox. 

All my thanks to Susan.

  
"I've leased the house." Claymore Gregg managed to blurt out before he started to quake like the spineless jelly fish he was. Captain Daniel Gregg looked down from his perch on the stairway and watched in delight as his self-proclaimed relative shivered in terror at the spectral antics.   
"To a, uh, Mrs. Muir, of Philadelphia." Claymore was babbling. "A widow with two small children.."   
The spirit took great pleasure while he terrorized the unwelcome visitor, finalizing his acts by picking up the sorry excuse for a human being and throwing him down the front steps, chuckling at the rat's cry of "watch the glasses." 

  
It wasn't until much later, while searching the beach through his telescope, that the Captain allowed the words of his blithering nephew to take meaning. This wasn't the first time the sea slug had threatened to rent his home to strangers. A few years ago, the tightwad had even gone as far as to install a telephone in the house and replace the lamps with electric lights -- the infernal devices. The seaman had quenched that notion with one resounding blow to the seat of Claymore's pants. The look on his supposed nephew's face still a memory that made him grin. 

  
The very idea of anyone living in Gull Cottage made the sea captain cringe. He had not built his home, his ship, for strangers to inhabit on someone else's whim. When he had built his home, over a hundred years ago, it had been with the intention of spending his later years there, enjoying the things he loved most. He had envisioned peaceful days full of puttering in the yard with his trees, building models of his ships, and revising his sea charts. He had planned to spend hours walking along the shore, or watching the ships from the telescope in his room, a faithful dog by his side. He would finally have time for a dog, a life-long want. When he had thought he might marry Vanessa, the idea of sharing his home with even her had made him uneasy. It was a feeling he could not shake or ignore. When they had parted he had felt he had been spared something on which he couldn't even put a finger. 

  
No one, now or ever, would be living in Gull Cottage without HIS permission. Perhaps it was time to further propagate the theory that the cottage was haunted. It had been quite some time since he had caused any havoc in the town, reinforcing the ghost myth. It was good to remind the human beings that   
dwelt in Schooner Bay that this was his home, not his pretender relative's. He would be sure to add many tales of horror for the villagers to pass on to this Mrs. Muir. 

  
What kind of name was that, anyway? Muir. It certainly wasn't Irish. He knew from his reading that it meant the sea, but that did nothing to sway him. He had had an acquaintance, a book-maker actually, by the name of Charles Muir. The Captain had found him a most unsavory person, cheating customers and running off with the wife of his business partner. 

  
Philadelphia! How he had loved the City of Brotherly Love in his day. It had been a bustling city, teeming with life and adventure. One of his favorite things had been walking along the wharfs, talking with the sailors, hearing their tales of ship life and what they had encountered in their ports of call. Whenever he had had time in the city he would stay at The Brewster Home, a boarding house owned by a widow and her three daughters. He had always been assured of a clean bed and good food and pleasant company there. He had preferred Philadelphia even to Boston; it seemed cleaner somehow and had better regard for the men of the sea. That was his opinion anyway. And that was worth quite a bit, if you should ask him. 

  
As for widows, well, he knew all about those. Women dressed in an overabundance of black mourning for husbands they may or may not have loved. In his experience, most of them were merely in grieving until someone better came along. If he had been a woman, he would have preferred to be bereft of a husband as widows were allowed to own land and run a business in their own name. A widow indeed! What kind of family would allow a woman to move herself and two small children to an isolated piece of country such as Schooner Bay, Maine? This was his place, where he had been born and raised and died, mostly alone. But this was not a place for a lone woman. And especially not in Gull Cottage. He hadn't built his beloved home to house a Philadelphia widow who should have had enough sense to stay in Philadelphia. 

  
Appearing on the widow's walk, he looked out towards the sea, thinking how beautiful it was. This was the perfect night to be out on the water, a sky full of stars, a breeze blowing touched with a hint of fall. He ran his hands over the rail of the walk and sighed. When the house had been built, he had insisted that the widow's walk be added, even though the builders had thought it a waste of time for a bachelor. Would Vanessa have waited here for him -- pacing the small space, wringing her hands, tears welling up in her eyes, despairing if she would ever see him again? 

  
Many nights out on the sea, he could have sworn he heard a woman's voice calling his name. He had never told anyone but sometimes he heard it spoken as in conversation, sometimes in panic and once or twice in a moment of desire. It hadn't been Vanessa's voice. It had been a voice that he hadn't heard in any other place. Besides, Vanessa had never called him Daniel. Lately he had been hearing the voice again. Having the time to ponder it, it still didn't make sense and he knew it was his imagination. And a houseful of human beings certainly wouldn't do anything to stop it. He'd be hearing voices alright and not ones that he cared to hear. 

  
Children! The very bane of existence, he thought with a scowl, folding his arms across his chest. They were messy and noisy and always causing trouble. From those he had dealt with in his past, they were a lot like dogs, except that children were not nearly as obedient or as loyal. No, he would not have children in his home. He didn't need to be bothered with tears and yelling and fingerprints on his walls and dirt scattered on his rugs. And they would bring in dogs and cats and track up the house with their toys and games. Absolutely no children! Yet, briefly, the memory of being held in his mother's arms as they sat in the rocking chair by the fireplace filled his mind. 

  
Dematerializing once more, the seaman appeared at Claymore Gregg's place of residence. The nincompoop had the attention of a woman, he thought as he stood watching the erstwhile Gregg for several moments before the ninny noticed his acclaimed ancestor standing behind him.

  
"What do you want?" Claymore demanded. "Haven't you humiliated me enough for one day?" 

  
"You will call the woman and tell her she is not to come. I will not have anyone living in my house." 

  
"I can't do that!" Claymore protested. "She's already on her way here, she'll be at the house in the morning." 

  
"Well then, you will tell her she has to go back. I will not have it. You brought her here, you must get rid of her." 

  
"But if I don't rent the house, I won't have money to pay the taxes, I've told you that." the younger Gregg squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. "And they will tear the place down." 

  
"If you had been paying the taxes all along as you should have, you wouldn't be in this mess now, would you?" The Captain frowned. "I WILL NOT HAVE THIS WOMAN IN MY HOUSE!" the seaman exclaimed, a round of thunder rumbling through the clear night sky. "I expect YOU to take care of this, you lily-livered excuse for a man." And with that, he disappeared. 

  
The morning beamed brightly over the horizon, Captain Gregg noticed, as he stood on the balcony outside his bedroom. Many years of habit had him taking a deep breath of the sea air, still convinced it did him some kind of good. The sound of a car coming up the road put him on alert. That best be Claymore, telling him that all was well and the woman and her children were not residing at Gull Cottage anytime soon. But it was large automobile that pulled up to the front steps of his home. The driver brought it to the front gate as though they knew they were home. With curiosity, he watched as a beautiful young woman got out of the station wagon, followed by two children -- a boy and a girl -- and small dog. He also noticed an older woman, a housekeeper, no doubt. 

  
Meaning to frighten them away before they got the gate open, he caught the excited exclamations of the children and saw with surprise, the way the woman was looking at his home. She certainly did not look like any widow he had ever known. What was that? She said his home was enchanting, that she had imagined it just this way. He watched as the two woman headed for the house, then saw Claymore pull up, the numbskull. As the former sea captain watched the exchange between the women and his nephew, he decided that perhaps she should be given a chance. It wouldn't hurt anything. 

  
After all, he could use a bit of a change.   
  



End file.
